


Haunted

by acrimsondaisy



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:27:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27314059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrimsondaisy/pseuds/acrimsondaisy
Summary: Noah reflects on his new afterlife.
Kudos: 3





	Haunted

It was one of death's greatest irony's that the halls Aglionby now felt haunted when in his own life, they had been one of Noah's greatest comforts, the place where all worries and distractions would evaporate, making way for joy, excitement, and the thrill of adventure. After all, it was Noah who had become a ghost now, not the other way around.

He, who inhabited this place now, floating through the crows, sometimes visible, sometimes not. Yet, even when he was at his most corporeal, no one seemed to take notice of him. The eyes of the living glossed right past him, never lingering – Noah had tried to get people's in the days right after his death, but even when he touched them, people only shivered and moved right past him, as though his touch had been no more than a sudden breeze.

Nobody acknowledged Noah's presence, least of all...

For most of the day, the ghost stayed cooped up in his old dormitory, the one he had shared with his roommate. He kept coming back to it, even though the place was so full of memories that it all but ached to occupy it. Late-night study sessions, fueled by black coffee and competitive spirit. Roaring laughter, ugly, loud, and unrestrained. And maps, so many maps, with notes and mad rants and theories. The glint in his friend's eyes when he...

There was a bitter filter hanging over those memories now, like mold or asbestos, or death, too deep, too muddled to ever be truly separated. The dark wood walls that had seemed so elegant to him in his life – if not a tad pretentious – now had shifted into an oppressive force, keeping him boxed in.

Yet, the room kept drawing him back, no matter how much he vouched to keep away from it. At first, Noah had wondered about a supernatural explanation, perhaps some old token of his or the room itself that would only disguise the deeper truth of the matter and that was that despite everything the room – as irrational as it was – provided a strange comfort to Noah. Perhaps it was the simple familiarity of it. The fact that, no matter what, he recognized these walls, even when so much seemed to be slipping away from him these days. Here in this room, he knew where he was and that was good enough. It was easy, comfortable, quiet.

At the same time, it was also the one room that felt the most haunted to him, just as, in turn, he kept haunting it.

_He wasn't alone here._

Noah wasn't sure if it was a genuine reaction if his old roommate was truly just as oblivious as he seemed when it came to being aware of his presence, or if the boy simply refused to acknowledge him. If he kept up the pretense of innocence even here, when it was just the two of them. Could he feel the way Noah's eyes lingered on him, sending glares to the back of his skull? Did he hear the screams and accusations he yelled at him, whenever Noah simply couldn't keep it in anymore? Did he shiver at the chill after Noah had spent all day pacing the room?

Did he feel guilty?

Did he feel anything at all?

Unfinished business.

Even when he wasn't anywhere near, when he was in classes or even completely off-campus, Noah could sometimes see Whelk move from the corner of his eyes. One turn and he would be gone again, wondering if it had been a trick of the mind or maybe even the supernatural. And if kept happening, still. Noah heard his voice in a crowded room, matter-of-fact and slightly haughty as it ever was. It echoed back to him.

Sometimes, Noah stood there, right in front of him, studying his former friend's face for a trace of what had happened for a sliver of guilt, of regret, even discomfort. Anything at all.

Nothing.

Had their friendship truly been so one-sided, so unimportant to the other boy that even now, his absence didn't even lend itself to the slightest bit of internal conflict at all? Was this really it? Had he meant nothing to Whelk? Nothing more than a tool to be used and pushed aside when he wasn't needed anymore?

There was no other explanation.

It made sense, too, if he looked back at it. There had been no hesitation when it happened, not even for a second. Instead, there had been a viciousness, an anger, a cold determination. A fluid strike, accompanied by bared teeth, and the feral look on his face.

Whelk was a monster.

And Noah?

He had been discarded.

Fading. Murdered.

Forgotten.


End file.
